


Save Him

by Bloodveils23



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BBC Sherlock - Freeform, M/M, mormor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-28
Updated: 2015-11-28
Packaged: 2018-05-03 18:49:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5302799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bloodveils23/pseuds/Bloodveils23
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sebastians been shot. Can his kitten save him?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Please

Moriarty stood at the door of 221B, blood covering his hands and his suit; tears are slowly streaming down his face. 

"C'mon you bastard!"

Jim yelled and pounded his fist on the door one more time. He looked down at his feet to see his Tiger holding his bloody abdomen. 

"Jim, I'm f-fine..." 

Sebs voice was barely hearable. Almost a whisper. His eyes started to close and his head tilted to the side. 

"Moran don't you dare die on me! I didn't give you permission!"

Permission? Really? Jim was only trying to sound tough and cross, hoping it would help him stay awake but it didn't. He bent down and took off his jacket, pressing it onto Sebastians wound. 

"Stay with me... Please.."

The door creaked open and Mrs. Hudson let out a tiny yelp when she saw James. He glared at her and gritted his teeth, giving her a sign that if she didn't get a certain detective and his doctor, Moran isn't the only one dying tonight. 

Shaky Mrs. Hudson nodded and hurried upstairs. She knocked on Sherlocks door quickly and constantly until the door swung open. Sherlock looked furious at first before seeing she was frightened. 

"Mrs. Hudson? What is it? Is everything alright?"

Mrs. Hudson pointed her thumb behind her, signaling to the door. 

"D-D-Downstairs..." was all she could stutter out. 

John arose from his chair and followed the detective down to the door. Sherlock opened the door and looked down, turning up his chin slightly and glaring. 

"What the hell do you want, Moriarty?"

The messy haired man slowly looked up at him. His expression was anger but his eyes were pleading. 

"Help me... Help him."

John peeked out behind Sherlocks back and turned his head away once he saw the puddle of blood already rushing down into the streets. 

"Why should I help you?" Sherlock asked emotionless. 

"You can do anything you like with me... You can take me to the police, you can torture me, I'll tell you how I survived on St. Barts, you can have me killed just please... Save him."

Sherlock raised up an eyebrow, not responding. 

"Please! Sherlock, I'm begging you... Help him!"

Jim nearly choked on the word 'begging'. Both because his Tiger is dying and it's agonizing to say all of this to bloody Sherlock Holmes. 

The criminal dropped his head, holding in a sob and clutching onto Sebastians shirt. Watson walked back to Sherlock, avoiding the scene outside and looked up at him.

"What do we do?"

There was a long pause before Sherlock tilted his head to John. 

"We let them in."


	2. Luck

Bad luck. 

That's all it was. 

Wrong time, wrong place, wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Everything - wrong! 

Ordinary people think bad luck is when you lose a game. Oh, this was a game alright... But not one Jim wanted to play. 

Luck. Success or failure brought by chance rather than through ones own actions. 

Bad. Not such as to be hoped for or desired; unpleasant or unwelcome. 

'Bad mix... Bad bad mix...' Jim thought. 

This kind of bad luck... This was luck of an enemy. This wasn't losing any other game people would play; this was being defeated by own purposes. 

Just a few bullet holes. All it was. Just a few bullet holes to bring down two birds with one stone... One bird being the target and the other being the one to clean up its mess. 

Why should he care? He's just a human. He's as ordinary as anyone else. Why was he here? He should've just left him in that alley to rot. 

Oh, but he couldn't... He just couldn't... 

Mugged. Jim Moriarty getting mugged?! A poor man, skinny as a twig. Wouldn't even last one night in this weather. He saw two men in nice suits, obvious to have enough money for that twat. Jim should be the one dying. Not him. Not his Tiger... 

The small man - aiming his gun towards James' abdomen - hesitated. At least long enough for Sebastian to take the bullet. Why? Why did he have to care? Sebastian is as insane as Moriarty himself. Why would he take the bullet? Why not walk away? Why, dammit, Why? 

Baker Street was the first thing he saw as he looked around, his arms under Sebastians to hold him up. That was the last thing he wanted to see... But it was the only hope he had. No one else around. Can't call an ambulance. If he did, they wouldn't rescue him. They'd put both men in a rotting cell. Doctor... Doctor Watson. 

A sight any man would want to see. Moriarty saving someone? He should have been behind the trigger. But no... It was all just luck. 

Bad luck. 

~~~~~~~~~~

Moriarty paced around the room, waiting eagerly to see if his Tiger would survive. 

"Stop that." a husky voice said. Jim looked over at the tall thin figure over in the corner. 

"Stop what?"

"Pacing. It's annoying. Your pet will be fine."

James tightened his jaw. Nobody should ever dare talk to him like that. But he couldn't yell no matter how much he wanted to. If he screwed up, both criminals would be out dying on the streets. So, no matter how much he hated it, he obeyed. 

The army doctor rose from the side of the couch, his gloves bloody and shoulders slouched. Sebastian lied on the couch, unconscious. His shirt and coat over to the side and fresh black stitches over his stomach. His hands stained red and his skin as pale as snow. 

As John walked to the kitchen, Holmes took a few steps to James. "I'm waiting."

"For?" he asked, not taking his eyes off his Tiger. 

"You said if we helped, you'd tell me how you survived and that I can do whatever I want with you." He stared at the criminal with cold eyes, having almost brutal enthusiasm on the end of his sentence. 

"You didn't do a damn thing. You just stood to the side and let your little boyfriend patch him up!"

"And I can take them right out." Sherlock said, sounding angry. 

Jims shoulders dropped slowly as he looked down. Hold it in Moriarty... He's not one to bottle things up, but this is Morans life. So shut up. 

"Fine."

Sherlock tilted his head up slightly, a smirk being forced down. 

"Brother. That was my brother on the roof. I let my own brother kill himself for my own stupid game... Wasn't it obvious to you? You're the great Sherlock Holmes, why didn't you solve it? Stubble. I didn't have one yet he did. How can I grow a healthy stubble in a matter of hours?" 

His fists grew into balls as he said all this. Although Sherlock was rather enjoying it... Oh, how great it would feel to put a knife through his head right now. 

"Now what are you going to do with me?"

"Lestrade should be here any moment. It'll be for him to decide. Either cell for a lifetime or execution."


	3. Guilty?

James Moriarty stood in his cell, staring at the blank wall. Eyes tired and hair ruffled and his hands still having a bit of blood left over from Sebastian. 

Sebastian... 

'Is he okay?' Jim wondered. He wondered if Holmes and Watson lied about him being okay; he wondered if Seb could be in another cell; he wondered if Sebastian could be walking home, not a care in the world... 

His thoughts were interrupted by a guardsman. Heavy set and a uniform, bright red hair and a stubble. He looked angry. Of course, can't blame him. He's in the presence of Moriarty. The big spider. And an asshole. 

"Trick or treat?" Jim asked, the mock in his tone thick. The man just ignored him, taking his handcuffs off of his wrists a bit too rough. 

The guardsman held his left arm with one hand and his right shoulder with the other, guiding him out to the court room. 

This is the big moment for Jim. Will it be like three years ago and be not guilty for the crime of the century? Or is it time for him to pay the price for his criminal acts?

The consulting criminal stood in the room, gazing around at the features and often giving death glares to the jury. His dead eyes looking everywhere out of boredom. Trying to hold in the temptation of the bold beige walls turning bright crimson red. A small smirk grew on his face... Him making art. His own type of art. Too bad they took his knife away. It'd be so funny to see them scream... 

Everything the judge had said was all skipping his ears as he was continuing with his thoughts. Again, they were interrupted by the judge. He turned over to the jury and asked a question... 

"Guilty or not guilty?"

A man from the jury stood up, avoiding sight of Jim. He opened his mouth to answer...

~

Sebastian woke up with a groan, his eyes slowly opening. 

"Jim..?" was all he could mutter out. 

"Your boss is gone. Best to catch him before," Sherlock shrugged quickly, "you know."

Moran sat up, trying to ignore the pain in his stomach and looked over at Holmes. "Know what?" 

Sherlock looked down from the window, his eyes slowly rolling towards Sebastians. 

"Whether he's guilty or not."

It took Seb a minute to process. Oh fuck... He glared up at Sherlock, tightening his jaw. "Where is he?" he asked in a hoarse and furious voice. 

"Same place as three years ago. Just may not be so lucky this time."

Sebastian wanted to pounce. He wanted to rip him apart for turning James in. But he couldn't. If he made too big of a movement, the stitches would break and both men would die. 

Instead, he quickly grabbed his shirt and headed out the door. 

'He saved me... I save him.'

*okay so this is a really bad chapter and the whole court scene was really off but it gives you an idea of what all is happening. What do you think happened? Guilty or not guilty? ;)


End file.
